


your extra time

by spacegirlkj



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Domestic Bliss, Fluff, M/M, just. listen to some old songs and think about them being fucking gross and in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-02 06:48:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8654911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacegirlkj/pseuds/spacegirlkj
Summary: they're beautiful, soft, subdued and smiling. they're together, they're together.





	

**Author's Note:**

> hi im not dead just crying bc nano  
> anyways heres some domestic shit have fun (kind of the same universe as little piece of home)  
> title from princes kiss

Mornings, Hinata wakes up to Oikawa encasing him, strong arms slung over his back, head against his chest listening to the steady thump of his chest. Sunshine pours through blinds too sheer and not pulled to a close, blinding Hinata when he blinks his eyes open and tries to focus his eyes. Hinata grumbles at the sight, digging his face deeper into the crook of Oikawa's neck. Oikawa laughs, soft angelic, reverberates through hinata with each rise of his lungs.

He’s lying atop Oikawa’s bare chest, breathing in the scent of a man who probably needs a shower andthe leftover fragrance of the night before. Hinata wrinkles his nose in mock disgust, earning him a half hearted slap too soft to be any kind of mean. Hinata giggles, brighter than the light around him, and squirms closer into Oikawa’s touch.

Oikawa is beautiful when he’s half asleep, ashy brown hair flying every which way, eyes squinted as he tries to make out the things around him without contacts. He’s barefaced too, of course— skin smooth and flawed with acne scars and redness around his nose. He isn’t porcelain in the slightest, and it’s stunning, tan undertones highlighted by the sun’s rays that cascade over his cheeks. Big, beautiful brown eyes peer down at him, eyes lids lazily blinking with languid attempts to keep open. Hinata smiles, watches the inverted galaxies flicker in the whites of Oikawa’s eyes. He runs his right hand down Oikawa’s chest, teases the band of his pyjama pants before sliding it back up to brush his hair from his forehead. Oikawa, in return, draws lazy circles on the bare skin of Hinata’s back. It sends shudders down his spine in the softest way possible, subdued and muted in a manner only mornings can be.

They're warm in the way that comes along with naked skin flushed against sheets, duvet kicked onto the floor in the night. Hinata shivers, and Oikawa pulls him closer.

Breakfast is where Hinata shines, cracking eggs, whipping pancake batter with a bowl wedged under his arm. Oikawa always watches from the counter, coffee mug in hand, small smile on his face as hinata works. Some days, he comes in and wipes the stay drips of batter from his nose, others, he simply admires, admires, adores. 

(He wishes it were as romantic as it seems. In reality, Oikawa just can’t cook for shit.)

The pancakes are thick and fluffy, western style with chocolate chips and blueberries sprinkled in. Oikawa always wants to stay to his diet, tells Hinata no, just raspberries in mine, no chocolate, but never protests when Hinata dumps the chips into the batter with a cheeky smile.

He would’ve stolen Hinata’s chocolate pancakes anyway. 

When they’re finished, they eat sitting side by side on the kitchen counter, sharing food and feeding each other. Hinata get’s chocolate across his cheek, and Oikawa leans forward to kiss it off, making the younger giggle as it just smears more and more. Oikawa continues pressing forwards, determined to kiss the chocolate off of his face. In the end, Hinata gets pinned to the countertop as Oikawa hovers over him, having had kicked the empty metal bowl onto the ground with a loud _crash_ that barely startled either of them. Hinata sticks his tongue out as Oikawa pouts, whispers _if you kiss me now it’ll taste like pancakes_ , and really, that’s all the incentive Oikawa needs.

Winter means keeping the window open to hear the wind howl and watch the snow fall. It means cuddling for warmth with thick blankets on the couch they both hate. It’s old enough to seem victorian, a housewarming gift from the newlywed Hanamaki’s Takahiro and Issei. The couch is a hideous shade of pink with gold feet, but they've grown to appreciate the way it holds them together. Oikawa pets Hinata's hair, presses kisses to his scalp. The rain soothes every knot, every ache of practice from their bones, leaves them loose and enamoured with its music. Oikawa listens to Hinata breath; he has fallen asleep.

Hinata has freckles that flicker across his cheeks, spread dense over the bridge of his nose and flecking his forehead and chin with the tiny marks. Oikawa traces his fingertips over them, playing connect the dots with the stars, makes constellations out of every third freckle and draws orion on side on his nose. He has a chicken pox scar by his right eye, small enough to be overlooked unless you searched for it. Oikawa thumbs the imperfection, focuses on the steady metronome of every rise and fall of Hinata’s chest. 

Fascination, the thin line between obsession and adoration, what Oikawa feels when he looks at Hinata’s sleeping face. He’s so still, so peaceful. Oikawa pokes his cheek, smiling spreading over his face. Hinata eyes blink open, surprised, disoriented. When he finally focuses on Oikawa, it is with a smile and two taps of his index finger to his lips. OIkawa breaths out a laugh, swoops down and presses languid kisses to Hinata lips, unravels at the way he hums against him.

Sometimes, when neither can sleep, Oikawa will brew tea, fussing with the kettle as Hinata sits atop the counter, kicking his feet like a kid, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Oikawa looks stunning in silvery blue, the moon casting a glow through the bay window as he busies his hands with the boiling water, trying to move tired limbs through molasses.The scent of lavender and peppermint trails from the leaves to Hinata's nose; he sighs, smiling as he watches Oikawa look over his shoulder as he pours the boiling water into the pot. His back is bare, practically naked save the alien print boxers covering his ass, the ones that make Hinata laugh enough to earn him a war of tickles. hinata flips the sleeves of Oikawa's shirt over his hands and reaches out his arms for oikawa to come closer. He obliges, and the tea is forgotten.

“Nightmare?” Oikawa asks, voice husky as it cracks from disuse.

Hinata hums in assent, lets himself be pulled into Oikawa’s bare chest as he exhales small breaths against his skin. They always come the night before tournaments or big games, when Oikawa is staying up reviewing play after play, when his own nervousness makes him twitch, makes him afraid of falling asleep. Oikawa knows this, knows why he’s fighting closing his eyes like a toddler up past their bedtime. He cradles Hinata, holds him close and whispers lullabies in his ear, murmurs about his day and the stars and nothing in particular, the plants on the windowsill or something that caught his eye. 

He tells Hinata he is beautiful, enamouring. It is too dark to see him blush.

Sunday afternoons are for chores, are for pulling out the ironing board and pressing all of Oikawa’s preplanned modelling outfits, for taking out the creases in their uniforms and making sure that the clothes they wear to the after game interviews aren’t a complete mess. Hinata stands on a step stool, hums as he works, careful not to touch the scalding iron to his skin. He has the record player cranked as loud as it can go, blasting Prince over the muted hum of their fancy vacuum and Oikawa sucks up the dirt in the living room.

It’s lazy and slow in the way all Sundays are, with overcast skies sending snow down like dandruff in large drifts. Big, fluffy flakes stick to the windowsill, make it seem later than it really is. November is too early for snow, but winter claws on anyway. Hinata is never cold; he has Oikawa’s arms and smile and laugh and the little home that wraps around him to keep him warm. 

The song changes to something more upbeat, kiss, and Oikawa perks up from his relaxed cleaning, catches eyes with Hinata and grins. With the extra slack of the cord curled around his index finger, Oikawa calls come hither, curls fingers and lips into a smile as he mouths along to the lyrics _you don't have to be rich to be my girl_ and swings his hips. Hinata shakes his head, but can’t stop the blush that creeps up his cheeks as Oikawa pulls the vacuum closer by the cord, uses the handle as a microphone. He leans back as if to dip himself, kicks his leg up and stands straight, a look of momentary surprise on his face at the fact that he didn't fall flat on his ass. Hinata bites his cheek, keeps himself from laughing at Oikawa’s pout at his lack of reaction.

Oikawa stalks closer to the beat of the music, winks at Hinata and mouths _you got to not talk dirty, baby, if you wanna impress me_ , and at this point, Hinata is trying to focus on not burning his hands. Oikawa’s smirk grows with even inch he’s given, steals a mile of smugness and leans onto the ironing board. He walks his fingers over it, looks Hinata in the eye with enough coyness to draw a strangled noise from Hinata’s throat as he whispers _you can't be too flirty, mama, I know how to undress me_. 

Oikawa twirls the vacuum cord with his right hand, yanks it so that the body is closer before kicking it away. Hinata swallows the growing lump in his throat, completely ignorant to whatever he was supposed to be doing before, watches Oikawa devilish hair flip when he shifts his weight to his good leg. Hinata can only watch from the sidelines of his mind as all logical thought goes out the door, Oikawa grabbing onto this hand and guiding it to shut off the iron. Hinata looks down to their hands, wants to stammer the question of what the hell is happening. 

When he looks back up to ask, Oikawa is waiting for him, connects their lips in an action so smooth, so natural that Hinata isn’t even surprised. He has to raise to his tiptoes to slide his arms over Oikawa’s shoulders, has to stand on the edge of the stool for Oikawa’s slender hands to rest on his lips, rubbing lazy circles onto his hipbones. There isn’t a rush, both taking their time as Hinata’s hands move up to tangle into Oikawa’s hair. He can’t help himself from smiling, from humming the tune of kiss under his breath as Oikawa moves against him.

_I just want your extra time and your kiss,_

Oikawa laughs in his head. How true he was. 

When Oikawa comes home from trips away, whether modelling or interviews or whatever vanity reflects onto him, the first thing he is greeted with is _Lovers Spit_ humming through the crackling record speakers. The record player was a gift from Kenma, something thoughtful enough that Hinata nearly started crying. Now, the song that pours through its speakers fits perfectly with the orange sky warming through the windows, almost as perfectly as Hinata's face when he whips his head around to see Oikawa walking through the door. He smiles, so so wide, so much brighter than the sun, and jumps, knocking the bag from Oikawa's arms as the smaller collapses into his arms. Hinata presses their foreheads together as he wraps his legs around Oikawa's waist, pulling him closer. 

_Hey_ he says.

_Hey you_ , Oikawa replies

_I missed you,_ Hinata whispers

Oikawa smiles. _Not as much as I did_

And even when time away stretches their love over miles, even when the court puts tension on either one of them, even when there is tears and bitterness and nerves, Hinata knows he can jump and be caught, can breath in the scent on the arms that hold him and think _home_.

When Oikawa proposes, he does so in a cafe overlooking the water front, in the time after sunset and before dark. Hinata wasn't expecting it; one moment, he was looking at the sky, wishing he could be here forever, the next, he was looking back to Oikawa, who was pushing a blue velvet box across the table. When Hinata looks back, he can remember the moment his heart froze, remembers when the realization sunk in that this was forever, remembers croaking _yes_ , _yes_ through tears that spilled over his eyes and down his cheeks, remembers Oikawa slipping the ring, a delicate gold band, on his finger and climbing on the table to grab Hinata's face and press kiss after kiss to his lips, tasting salt and smiles with ever touch. Hinata touches his cheek as he remembers, and Oikawa kicks him from the other side of the couch, coyly. 

He is blushing.

**Author's Note:**

> okay because ive gotten asks on what im gonna work on next, when ill update stuff, etc:  
> -precipece in the mountains will be finish in early december, sorry for the wait for the last chapter  
> -eat your heart out! is currently on hold. i might be able to update, but ive lost some momentuem for that story and im honestly just putting it on the back burner  
> -however!!! i have another yakuza/mafia au in the works, as well 2 yurio character studies and a viktuuri fic. nano has def taught me how to write lots in a short amount of time, so i should be able to manage projects better  
> with that being said, i hope you enjoyed this fic, and as always, can cry about it with me on my tumblr spacegaykj~


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